Green Eyed Monster
by Tawnia
Summary: <html><head></head>You can call it Envy, or Jealousy, or Lavi. Lavi-centric. LaviYuu, Arekan</html>


****Warning: ****Mentions of adult stuff.  
><strong><strong>Pairing: <strong>**Lavi/Kanda (LaviYuu), Allen/Kanda (Arekan)

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><p><strong>GREEN-EYED MONSTER<strong>

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><p>He caught them in the men's shower.<p>

Their dripping wet bodies were pressed flush against each other, scandalous moans escaping their mouths and a red, deformed hand placed atop a crown of flowing, black locks, pushing the head down further–

He averted his eyes. He couldn't look anymore.

But it was a scene that would forever be burnt into his retina.

"…."

He stepped fully into the showering room, slammed the door shut and waited.

Entwined bodies stilled in fearful anticipation at his entrance, frozen in the obscene pose they were previously engaged in before he hd intruded. Silver eyes caught his as he pushed away from the shadows and further into the place. He saw them widen in shock, creasing the dark pentacle mark that was etched on to the skin below and above the eye, as his expressionless face came into view.

"_L-Lavi_!"

He watched with a twisted sense of satisfaction as the other occupant in the room choked; the white-haired bastard had jerked his hips up at the shock of being caught red-handed – literally, given his deformity – and his pride was inadvertently but forcibly shoved into the other's mouth.

What made the last of his self-control crumble was the tiny and barely restrained hiss of unexpected pleasure escaping the bastard's mouth, which was closely followed by a minute forward movements of his hips into the Asian's mouth another time. He saw this, and inside he burned fire-red, as brightly as his crimson hair. Nobody, _nobody_ would derive such clandestine delight from the Japanese beauty but he.

He found himself standing before the duo, an ugly snarl on his face. Silvery locks were fisted roughly in his vengeful hands and yanked violently. The pleasured hiss immediately morphed into a pained one, and he felt a sickening rush of gratification at that, which sent adrenaline pumping through his veins. He swung his arm back and forth once, fiercely, socking the British bastard right across the eye. Another violent punch to the jaw. There was a slight cracking sound. He hoped it was broken.

"_Lavi_!" A different voice sounded this time, stunned and half-angry.

His singular emerald eye narrowed dispassionately as someone pushed past and he was unceremoniously shoved aside. He stumbled, but never took his eyes off the two. Before him was Kanda, crawling over to where the white-haired bastard had fallen to the ground and was groaning softly in pain. A supposedly non-existent heart constricted and broke and bled, as delicate fingers cradled a bleeding face to a tattooed chest.

"_What the hell, Lavi_!"

But he couldn't care less. He tuned out that lovely, exotic voice, only seeing how raven-black merged with snow – onyx waterfall pooling around damp, silver hair – as Kanda leant anxiously over the bastard's prone form. The deep, rich voice called out for his attention once again, but he was distracted. He couldn't take his eyes off sleek, ebony locks cascading down a tattooed chest stained red. When he finally tore his gaze away, it fixed upon ruby-red lips instead. Lips that were repeatedly forming a name he couldn't hear. Wouldn't hear. Refused to.

Those moist, pink lips that had just recently accepted another's pride. They were opening and closing desperately, hovering so closely over the bastard's marked eye. He could not understand. His own eye was far worse disfigured, so why was that beautiful Japanese face not over his own?

"_Moyashi! Wake up, moyashi! Moyashi…_"

He was appalled. Flabbergasted. Thunderstruck. His unblinking stare was rigid and uncomprehending upon the other's lips – how _could_ such delicious plumpness pronounce such a vile, vile name? It seemed almost blasphemous that those beloved crescents of lips could articulate the three syllables to form the pet name he so repulsed hearing. It was painfully ironic how the impending apocalypse of his world would be caused by the one he so dearly cherished.

And he chose not to believe when Bookman said that the greatest destruction upon oneself could only be brought forth by the ones held closest to one's heart.

Now he regretted.

How dreadfully he wished for his agony to be nothing but a terrible nightmare. And when he awaoke he would race to his beloved's room and throw the door wide open, crying out joyfully, "Yuu-chaaaaaaaaaaan~!" before being hit severely over the head with the sheath of a much fear – yet loved – obsidian katana that was as midnight black as its owner's gorgeous hair. What was it they always said? "_Love me, love my dog_." In this case the rhetorical, problematic dog was his beloved's personality. But he demonstrated his faith in that particular saying to the fullest extent. His beloved came in a package, he acknowledged that, and he was determined to love whatever he unwrapped – for any difficulties he encountered were infinitesimal, insignificant prices to pay for the heart of his beloved to belong to him and him only.

The very least he would ask for – would expect – was reciprocation. He didn't want him as a trophy he could brag about. _Look at my latest prize, a glamorous stunner straight from the heartlands of Japan!_ He didn't want to boast about his latest catch. Scratch that: the Japanese boy could never be a mere object to him. He was far too precious to him. _My beloved_. All he wanted was his beloved's wholehearted willingness to entrust his lotus-bound heart to him. Was it too much to ask?

It was, apparently, to his beloved.

"…_moyashi! Wake up! Moyashi, moyashi–_"

And, damn it all, the name bled into his ear despite his best efforts to block that enticing voice out.

"_SHUT THE FUCK UP_!"

Silence fell like a heavy curtain; a thick blanket of tension draped thickly over three bowed heads. He was mildly astonished to find that he was the origin of that exasperated scream. Ah, it was clear that his true self had broken out from where it had lay hidden all along under the façade of 'Lavi'. It was about time he showed the two what _he_ was capable of. He slowly lifted a one-eyed gaze to meet a pair of dusky brown ones, which were blurred over with a mixture of concern and fury. Though it was unbearably obvious who the concern was intended for, by the way those soulful russet eyes kept drifting down – to that bastard whose bleeding face still occupied his beloved's slim, bare thighs. Fresh droplets of blood tracked a scarlet trail over smooth skin, and internally he snarled at that. How_ dare_ he desecrate his beloved's soft, white skin with his tainted blood, and corrupt the smooth, clean expanse of previously unpolluted skin with his poisoned essence?

Rage consumed him at the sacrilegious sight, but his very core was blackened by pure, undiluted jealousy. It ate away at his sanity, devoured all reasoning, exiled compassion from his heart. He reached out to grip Kanda's hips with a force great enough to bruise, and roughly pulled the smaller boy on to him, unmindful of the way the bastard's face thunked from the Japanese boy's thighs and on to the hard, wet floor. He would have smashed that infuriating face to smithereens if he wasn't so hellbent on showing that bastard that Kanda was his. And the frantic cries emerging from Kanda's mouth irked him to no end.

"Moyashi this, Allen that," he said savagely, holding the boy down forcefully. "It's about time you starteded singing to a different tune." With that, he freed his aching pride from the confines of his clothes and drove himself fervently, possessively, into the twisting, writhing body beneath him. And, oh, how sweetly did his little brown-eyed bird sing!

It must have been fate, he concluded with wicked amusement, that the bastard roused into awakeness seconds before they climaxed. This time, it was a scene that he hungrily drank in, eagerly imprinting the memory into his mind: how the pale, sinuous body arched and bucked and cried out its completion before and below him; how grey eyes blinked open, bleary with unconsciousness, only to fix horrorstruck gaze at the conjuction where he and Kanda were connected in the most intimate way ever; how three screams simultaneously ripped themselves out: one of heart-rending anguish, the other of guilty pleasure, and the last of unadulterated jealousy.

Still riding on the throes of ecstasy, he slumped over Kanda's limp body, exhuasted but well-satisfied. Although his senses were dulled, he could feel acutely the deafening beats that jealousy was drumming on his heart. Then he heard, faintly, an enraged and avengeful scream. He was dislodged from and thrown off Kanda, and impaled to a wall with white, spear-like strips of glowing Innocence.

Allen spared him not even a fleeting glance. He hurried over to where Kanda was picking himself up, and wrapped his Innocence's gentle, glowing length around the Japanese boy's nude, trembling body in a protective, loving embrace. "Hush, my love. It's alright – I'm here."

How his heart hissed and growled and snarled at those treacherous words! But logic had returned to him, somewhat, and he slipped out of his glowing restraints easily. He left the couple to their own devices. He didn't look back as he left the bath. He was weak-limbed and trembling at what he had just done. Still, his phantom heart managed to clench with sorrow through his daze – and it constricted and broke and bled.

As he stumbled towards the exit he passed by the row of basins. He paused at the nearest sink and tried to wash the shock and revulsion from his face with cool, clear water. Refreshed, he braced himself against the white porcelain and looked up to see himself reflected in the mirror. Just then a soft, whispered murmur reached his ears and his thoughts flew to a certain Japanese boy – and the bastard at his side. Without him realising it, jealousy was slowly but surely trickling back into his being. As long as the dark-haired beauty remained in the arms of another, he would burn with a fevered madness. His soul would never rest until his beloved was truly _his_.

He continued staring ahead, then reached up with a shaking hand, cautiously making contact with his reflected counterpart in the mirror. He traced the outline of his face with unsteady fingers, noting with disgust and anger his eyepatch. His fingers crept towards his ruined eye, hidden behind the piece of black leather.

However, mere seconds before it pushed the cloth aside his hand deviated, swerving aside towards his lone, green eye. Covered it. As he did, the expected darkness fell, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief. Now he wouldn't have to look at himself anymore. But the emotion in his heart spoke loud and clear, boldly stating its existence. It couldn't be ignored, no matter how he tried to hide and fool himself.

Defeated, he let his hand fall away from where it was pressed across the side of his face. He watched helplessly, as he was revealed to himself once more, shown unerringly in the mirror. Mirrors never lie; so it must be true that he could see a monster staring back at him, with the same burning jealousy he knew was filling him to the brim being reflected in its one emerald eye. And he felt a sudden, strange jolt when he turned to go and saw that the monster did the same. There truly was no hiding who he was – not with the burning embers of jealousy nestled so comfortably in the hearth of his heart!

And so, there he was in the mirror: a green-eyed monster.

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